


walk on the wire

by boasamishipper



Series: and i think it's gonna be a long, long time [4]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Banter, Dog Tags, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: So this is the way the world ends, Ice thinks numbly. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with the remains of a dog tag being pressed into his hand.





	walk on the wire

As usual, Ice wakes up a few minutes before his alarm is set to go off, but as he blinks himself awake, he realizes something is different. For one, it’s way too dark outside to be seven in the morning, and a glance at his alarm clock confirms that it’s just before six. Then he hears a distant banging and realizes someone’s knocking on the door, which is probably what had woken him up in the first place. “The hell?”

The knocking continues, this time louder, and Ice curses. Whoever it is will probably keep knocking until Ice answers, so he climbs out of bed and heads to the door. He’s got a couple of biting remarks all ready to go when he throws the door open, but they all die on his tongue once he sees who’s standing on his front steps.

“Ice,” Mav says by way of greeting, like he stops by Ice’s house before dawn every day of the week. He looks like he’d fallen asleep in his clothes: his white T-shirt is rumpled, his bootlaces are undone and tufts of his hair are sticking straight up. “I need a favor.”

Ice leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hi, Maverick,” he says. “I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. Good morning to you too.”

Mav rolls his eyes. “Good morning,” he says dutifully, sounding so put out that Ice almost laughs. “I need a favor.”

“I heard,” Ice says. “Can’t say I’ve ever been woken up this early for a favor, so this ought to be good.”

If this favor is of the sexual variety, he swears to God Mav won’t be getting any for a week. But Mav just puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and rocks back on his heels, looking uncharacteristically serious. “You know that project I’ve been working on with Viper?” he says. “His light speed engine?”

Ice nods. He might not know all the details since the project is classified, but Mav’s told him enough that he has a basic grasp of what they’re doing. “Did something happen with the project? Pentagon cut off funding or something?”

“No,” Mav says. “It’s — well, it’s done. Almost, anyway.” Then, all in one breath: “Viper called me because he needs my help with the finishing touches, and I don't know how long it’s going to take, so I need you to cover my morning classes for me.”

Ice stares.

“Please,” Mav adds helpfully, and Ice laughs out loud.

“You expect me to take all your morning classes just because you batted your eyelashes at me, Mitchell?”

“C’mon, Ice.” Mav grins at him, and it takes a lot of effort for Ice not to smile back. God help him, he’s just so gone. “Please. I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

“Yeah?” Ice raises his eyebrows. “How do you plan on doing that?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

Ice moves closer, inclining his head so he’s right by Mav’s ear. “Well,” he says, his voice low and velvety smooth, and a little thrill goes through him when Mav shivers. “If you find yourself lacking inspiration, I’ve got a few of my own.”

“Bet mine are better.”

“Mm. We’ll see.”

The sound of a passing car startles them apart, and Mav coughs, one hand reaching around to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “So,” he says. “Uh. Is that a yes?”

Ice rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. He never feels like he has to be the Iceman when Mav is around, all cold composure and no mistakes, and it’s freeing to be able to let his guard down once in a while. “It’s a yes, Mav. Now go before Viper gets to work without you.”

Mav gives him a two-fingered salute. “Sir, yes sir,” he says, wearing that smirk that always makes Ice torn between smacking him upside the head and kissing him dry. Then, after looking both ways as if to make sure no one’s watching, he grabs Ice by the front of his shirt and tugs him down for a quick kiss. “Thanks, Ice,” he says, grinning again. “I’ll see you later.”

Ice watches him go. Yeah, he would. 

* * *

“Excuse me — Lieutenant Commander Kazansky? Commander Heatherly wants to see you in his office right away, sir.”

Ice sighs. He’d had a hell of a long morning what with an extra class to cover and the hop he’d just come back from, which Bronco and Burbank had won. All he wants is to take a long shower and then get lunch with Mav, but he tells the aide thank you and heads to Jester’s office.

Even though Viper had left TOPGUN to work on his project full time almost a year ago, Ice still can’t help but think of the office as Viper’s — nor can he get used to Jester being a commander now. Jester’s sitting down at his desk, and he’s leaning on his elbows, his hands clasped and pressed to his mouth like he’s lost in thought. Ice knocks twice on the open door, and Jester looks up. “Tom,” he says. His face is an exhausted mask of concern. “Have a seat.”

Ice’s brow furrows, but he does as ordered. It’s cold in here, colder than outside, and he’s tempted to zip up his flight suit as high as the zipper can go. “You…wanted to see me, sir?” His stomach contracts from nerves because whatever Jester’s about to say cannot be good if Jester is calling him Tom and looks like he hasn’t slept in a month. “Sir?”

Jester breathes out, long and slow. “Commander Kazansky,” he says. “You’re aware that Commander Metcalf was working on a project for the Pentagon with Lieutenant Commander Mitchell.”

Ice manages a nod. “Yes sir.”

“The two of them took their aircraft on an unauthorized test flight this morning,” Jester says, and as he speaks, Ice remembers passing by the hangar and seeing Viper and Mav arguing with each other. Nothing new, he’d thought at the time, but now it fills him with worry. The test flight had been unauthorized? He’d expect that kind of stunt from Mav — not really, though, not as much anymore — but  _ Viper? _ That doesn’t sound like him at all. “The plane…went down about fifty miles from here.” Then, almost by way of a confession: “There were no survivors.”

Ice feels like all of the warmth inside his body has fled, that the chill in the office has seeped in so far he might never be warm again. His hands are trembling, and he digs his fingernails into his palms hard enough to hurt, desperate to feel  _ something  _ other than the numbness of shock seeping through his veins.

_ Unauthorized test flight. The plane went down. No survivors. _

_ Mav. _

“But I…”  _ But I just saw him this morning,  _ Ice thinks, and the noise that tears free from his throat is half incredulous laugh, half hysterical sob.  _ I just saw him. I kissed him, and we were going to see each other tonight. He can’t be dead.  _ “I…are you sure?” 

Jester nods wearily. “Yes,” he says, and the words land like a missile through Ice’s heart, blowing it to pieces. “I’m sorry, Tom. I know you and Mitchell were friends.”

But Jester doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know how surprised Ice had been to find out that his feelings for Mav weren’t as unrequited as he’d thought. He doesn’t know about their first kiss, or the first time they’d made love. He doesn’t know about their lazy days in bed together, or how they’d sit on the porch swing and make fun of each other’s music taste, or laugh with each other over dinner. And now there’s nothing to know about, because Mav is dead.

“There’ll be an investigation,” Jester is saying, and Ice makes an effort to tune back in. “The Pentagon’s sending people down here in a couple days — they’ll want to interview you, since you were the last one to see Maverick alive.”

Ice bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood in order to keep himself from bursting into tears. Jesus. Thinking it is one thing, but to actually hear it like that… “Yes sir,” he manages. “That’s…that’s fine.”

Jester’s eyes soften. “Go home, Commander,” he says, almost gently. “Classes are cancelled for the rest of the day. I’ll give you a call later to discuss the plans going forward.” Then he takes something off the top of his desk and gives it to Ice. A piece of metal, burnt almost beyond recognition, with the words  _ LCDR Peter Matthew Mit  _ carved into it. “It’s all they were able to recover from the crash site.”

So this is the way the world ends, Ice thinks numbly. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with the remains of a dog tag being pressed into his hand. “Thank you, sir,” he whispers. His hand closes around the piece of metal, and he tucks it into the pocket of his flight suit, directly over his heart. “I’m…I’m just going to…”

“Go,” Jester says, and Ice does not need a second invitation.

He’s not sure how, but he ends up in the command locker room, which (thankfully) is empty of all the other instructors. He walks past the red lockers, the metal benches, and goes into the first shower stall he sees, drawing the curtains closed behind him and sliding down onto the still-wet tiles with a thump.

_ I’ll see you later, _ Mav had said. But now there would never be a later, because Maverick Mitchell is dead.

Eventually, Ice knows he’ll have to get up. He’ll have to talk to Jester, and start making plans for a funeral, and give his testimonial to the people from the Pentagon, and help Jester look for a new instructor. Eventually, he’ll have to shove his grief down behind a mask of composure and do his job — ice cold, no mistakes.

But for now, Ice sits there. Ice buries his face in his hands, and Ice cries.


End file.
